


In The Night

by Caahs



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Disabled Character, Charles in a Wheelchair, Charles-centric, Chess, Erik has Issues, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, First Kiss, Fix-It, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Poor Charles, Post X-Men: First Class, Rated For Violence, X-Men: First Class (2011), X-Men: First Class Fix It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9312791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caahs/pseuds/Caahs
Summary: During that particular night, voices were once more held responsible for a loud echo inside Charles's head, whispering phrases that the telepath was psychologically tired of hearing and consequently reflecting on their meaning. Although this time the wind carried different words. Syllable per syllable, the phrase penetrated in his mind like images of a dream which he never had the chance to experience."Forgive me, Charles."





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea a few weeks ago under hard influence of a fanart and a song, which I'll be linking along the chapter. Besides, there's always space for another fix-it, isn't it? They're very heart warming, indeed.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it and forgive me for any harsh mistakes. English is not my first language!

[The](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EmtpMlF4m_0) wind howled like a wolf calling for the rest of its pack; incessant its sharp noise in the dead of night. The foliage of the trees swung in the icy bursts' direction, carrying with it all the impurities found along the path bounded by little yellow lights illuminating the vast territory belonging to Charles Xavier's mansion. Inside, a deafening silence filled the hallways, which would one day be home for plenty of other mutants, but which unfortunately was now residence of a collection of antique furniture covered in dust and a few discouraged young men; shaken by the ones they lost and their own failure.

Immobile in the bed of his bedroom, Morpheus’ sacred sand had yet to be sparkled over Charles's tired eyelids. The drug whose name derived from the Greek god helped him reach the desired serenity, just when the pain proved to be more intense and the raging thoughts radiated to every corner of his mind. But the tranquil memories turned to be more and more ephemeral, taking the brightness and life out of the dubious nocturnal fantasies and replacing them with a characteristic darkness, as terrifying as the sky before a storm.

Images of that fateful day were repeated in short flashes; Shaw’s death, the missiles’ explosion, the despair of his students, the fight, the loneliness. And the one whose presence was still capable of bringing him an unimaginable amount of pain, whether physical or emotional. The bullet that struck his spine, the bullet that mercilessly removed the movements of his lower limbs, unusable from the waist down; the bullet deflected by Erik. His angled face, stuck deep in Charles's mind as in contact with burning iron, refused to disappear. His gray eyes, saturated with a distinguishable determination; a plea for Charles to follow in his footsteps and mingle his thoughts with those of a murderer. An invitation that the telepath didn’t ponder before refusing. His voice, deep and slightly shaken, pleading for a hint of understanding; a feeling that had already been exterminated by Charles the moment Erik's clenched fist hit his jaw.

"I want you by my side." The voice in his nightmares insisted on repeating. "We are brothers, you and I." His words were loud and clear, as if time had turned back again to the beach scene and its events unfolded in the same way. An eternal and torturous loop, created by his own memories.

Upon awakening, Charles's routine was summed up by his arms’ actions, responsible for all his movements. With them it was possible to get out of bed, to transfer himself from the bed to his wheelchair and to stroll through the large corridors that awaited him on the other side of the door. The only chance to move seeing the current state of his legs, fallen into complete disuse.

In the kitchen, Hank always left a cup of tea on the table with some crackers - or pancakes when he wasn't carried away by the usual melancholy. His figure reappeared during the afternoon, asking about Charles's previous night and how bad was his pain; wanting to do his best in order to spare the telepath of those unwanted sensations. Moira, with great effort, visited him for tea at most evenings, revealing the secrets of her team's incessant search for Magneto and his Brotherhood members. Although a kick-off was given in the direction of a romantic relationship, nothing more than a good friendship had been established between them; for the sake of their own mental sanity.

When the moon announced another night's awakening high up in the sky and the young inhabitants of that house retired once again to their respective rooms, the feeling of complete solitude suddenly reappeared from the ashes like a phoenix, taking control of all Charles’ senses. The portrait of Raven on his nightstand only reminded him of how her presence brought him joy and just how foolish he had been in wanting to forbid her from following her own path. His actions so poorly resembling those he always repudiated from his stepfather and mother. A simple map thrown to the ground brought back memories of an extended trip in search of new faces, new students; time in which he and Erik could still be considered good friends.

During that particular night, voices were once more held responsible for a loud echo inside Charles's head, whispering phrases that the telepath was psychologically tired of hearing and consequently reflecting on their meaning; worn out by spending hours imagining what would have happened if the opposite of Erik's decisions proved to be real. But unlike any other occasion, his body seemed slightly colder than usual, even warmed up by a few heavy blankets laying across his solid figure. And this time the wind carried different words. Syllable per syllable, the phrase pierced through his mind like images of a dream which he had never had the chance to experience.

"Forgive me, Charles." [The](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/9b/f6/b9/9bf6b929838b398cd95183e00fb3286e.jpg) telepath's mind was incapable of assigning an image to such masculine voice, sharply muffled by some object or member of its body. However, the deluge of feelings that surrounded every letter uttered could be detected with extreme ease, without the least effort on Charles’ part, who still thought he was trapped in yet another of his deceitful fantasies.

"I'm sorry for what happened. It wasn’t my intention." The owner of the voice said as he prolonged his stay in the telepath’s mind. The tone of his speech swayed in disharmony, losing the seriousness that once composed it.

Charles's torso returned to its previous temperature, just as the voice left an empty space inside his head, which was soon filled again with images of a relationship that didn’t exist anymore; established in midst of discussions about the future of their own beings.

The next morning, a knock on the door woke Charles from his daydreams, which prevented him from opening his eyes and greeting the light that pierced through his window.

"Yes?" The telepath asked, feeling a burst of dizziness. A brief smile flashed across his face as he saw Hank's scowling figure asking for entrance. "Oh, good morning, Hank. Come in, I was simply having five more minutes of rest."

Charles could feel the waves of despair coming from the scientist, wanting to offer help when seeing him costly change his clothes and move his skeleton to the wheelchair. Needless he was, the telepath was simply too proud to accept such offers. And to his great good fortune, Hank understood his wishes - even if he was internally opposed to them.

The scientist sniffed the air around as if he were looking for something; or someone, specifically. "Did you open the window at night?" Lying on the floor, several shades of leaves could be seen, apparently dragged by the morning breeze.

"I must have felt a little warm under so many blankets." The British accent echoed from the bathroom.

"You don’t remember?" Hank stopped, leaning against the doorframe and staring at Charles's expression as he left the small room of his suite.

Charles led the scientist out of the room, grabbing his arm with one hand. "With the amount of morphine, I take before bed and my constant nightmares I can barely say what feels real or imaginary, especially during the night." Before Hank could express his opinion, the telepath proceeded with his speech. "Now let's go to the kitchen, I've told Alex that we're going to help him with his powers today."

The day ended without further questions about the subject that hung inside the mind of Charles and Hank. Alex's training proceeded with high percentages of success despite so many items destroyed around the summer garden built in the back of the mansion. Moira didn't show up to visit that afternoon, but sent Charles a message saying that she would be on a major trip for the upcoming week.

"Are you sure you don’t want to sleep in another room tonight?" Hank asked as he slowly guided the Professor's chair back to his room.

Charles snorted, giving a brief smile in reply. "I'll be fine, Hank. There's absolutely nothing to worry about."

The wind brought, among so many other things of nature, a distinct odor of blood that night. Red burgundy, alive as a butterfly's wings, dripping from Shaw's forehead across the space left by Erik's coin; the characteristic taste of the colored liquid invading Charles’ mouth after being hit with one more punch in that deserted beach. The scent wrapped around Charles's stomach, which writhed on the sheets as he remembered more scenes in which blood had been innocently shed. It was one of the oceans that separated him from Erik’s figure, who had always been so persevering in his ideas of revenge and death to those who once did him harm.

Along with the visual and olfactory stimuli, however, came the same voice; now visibly more shaken and unsteady than last night.

"Charles, I'm sorry." The voice seemed to contain the tears inside that caused a mess of sensations, entranced with the chance of being finally released. "He was moving towards Emma and I couldn’t simply stare. He was going to kill her, Charles. And she's a telepath, just like you. I could have killed you that day, but I couldn’t. I never could." The man stammered wildly, completely lost in his speech. Desperate for a simple sign of understanding. The same one for which he came to plead on the sands of a Caribbean beach.

Charles tried, at that moment, to extend the powers of his mind to the one which was proved needy. However, he found no presence in the room or in the surroundings of his residence, as if a ghost was haunting his own thoughts and altering his memories; deceiving even the keenest of his senses.

The telepath's bright eyes flew open, scanning the outskirts of his bed and searching for any clue that could lead him to the owner of that voice. Adrenaline still flowed through Charles's veins, stimulating the muscles and brain to metabolize their nutrients faster. His breath, ragged, stopped as his eyes found small droplets of blood gleaming on the wooded floor.

With his fingers pressed against his temples, the telepath projected. "Erik? Is that you?" But nothing came in return, only the silence of his own mind and the echo of that same verbal melody; extremely familiar and hoarse.

The window remained open during the remaining night hours, in hope that perhaps Erik would return to that same room again.

 

"He was really here," Hank commented during the afternoon as they shared a bowl of ice cream.

Charles nodded silently, caught in his own reverie.

"Why?" The scientist's curiosity was as remarkable as the one emanating from every millimetric portion of the telepath. Countless could be Erik's motives, but for Charles the mystery remained intact.

"I don’t know, Hank." The bluish gaze watched the horizon as he brought another spoonful of the tasty dessert into his mouth.

"I smelled blood. Did he – “ Charles diverted his gaze, staring at Hank's troubled features in disgust at the audacity of his question.

"He would never do that." The answer left his lips with more anger than the intended.

A short silence followed the conversation, but it was soon replaced by Hank's murmured words.

"He's already done it once." His eyebrows shot up shyly as he stared at Charles's writhing face.

"No –“ Charles broke off, bringing new air into his lungs before continuing. "It was an accident."

 

Charles remained awake most of the night, listening only to the measured noise of the clock. And to his displeasure, at no time did he see the figure of Erik cross the window or even a small presence of the man outside.

"Please come home, Erik," he whispered, his eyes closed tightly to the tacit, warm night that welcomed him with open arms.

Forgiving Erik's actions hadn’t been easy. Charles followed the sunrise many times alongside a bottle of his best Bourbon, intoxicated not only by alcohol, but also by the heavy resentment and aftermath left by the man who abandoned him in pursuit of his goals. The sorrows were cast aside as Charles came to understand the situation Erik’s situation and his immutable personality; from childhood to adulthood. And even though he was absolutely sure that Erik would leave him after he had reached his goals, Charles refused to give up hope, like the dreamer who had always resided within him. However, the pain of seeing him leave still fills his chest with sadness.

 

As he descended into the kitchen, Charles could hear Sean and Alex's voice in discussion with Hank.

"You can’t just let him in and get out of here as he wants to. What if he hurts the professor?" Alex spilled rage at each of his words, in a manner remarkably similar to the one he so much repudiated inside his head.

"We have to respect the professor's wishes, Alex," Hank said after a long sigh, placing a plate full of pancakes on the table. "We should not interfere with his personal affairs."

"Technically we wouldn’t be interfering if it were for the good of everyone in here, isn’t that right?" Sean remarked as he took another bite of pancakes with maple syrup.

Charles, tired of hearing the same questions and sensing Hank's shrinking on the subject, entered through the doors of the comfortable room. "It's good to know that you're all gathered to talk. I just wish my life was not on the agenda considering the amount of assignments I gave for each of you."

Sean's eyebrows rose in surprise and with quick steps he left the kitchen, going straight into the garden with his plate of food in hand. Alex rolled his eyes at his friend's childish attitude, but remained with his arms crossed in front of the telepath.

"We think you should change rooms or let Hank or I stay in the same room as you. I can sleep on the floor," he added, earnestly aware of Charles's response.

"No one is going to sleep on the floor and I can very well handle this situation without your help. Even without my legs, I'm still stronger than everyone here." Taking a mug of tea between his hands, the telepath returned to look at Alex's writhing brows. A sketch of a smile formed between his reddish lips as one hand moved towards the mutant's arm.

"I’ll be fine. Plus, Erik's actions are harmless, but if he feels only a bit intimidated by the presence of any of you, he’ll run away again." Charles sighed, looking momentarily at the tea inside his mug.

"He'll look for me when he's ready." His gaze fell on Hank, who nodded sheepishly after his own words.

"We’ll keep our eyes open."

"Thank you, my dear. Now about the training I promised..." Charles wiped his hands on the fabric of his pants and continued with the chores of his day to day life as he had said earlier.

Exhausted after a long day of training, Charles soon retired to the comfort of his bed. Before finally lying down, the telepath pondered Erik's visits and the phrases he uttered while unconscious. His heart throbbed at being able to see his old friend one day, even for a few seconds. With that same thought, his eyelids rested against his cheek, and his mind was driven by the fatigue of his body.

A strong presence forced Charles's mind to reorganize in the midst of his dreams. Slowly the figure drew near, edging the shadows of the mansion and floating through the gardens as if it had wings to beat. His thoughts were free to be accessed, showing deep longing and doldrums on the surface of his mind. But the telepath, however tempting, dared not overcome this barrier, not immediately.

Charles heard a sigh leave Erik's mouth, listening intently to his footsteps inside the room, but keeping his eyes closed; pretending to be still asleep.

"I hate it." The mattress curled at Erik's arms, resting on the soft surface as he spoke into the palm of his hands. "I thought that away from you I would be fine and could go through with my plans. But the further I move, the more that damn pain increases." His fist sank into the bed, tipping Charles's limp limbs towards his forearm.

"Forgive me, Charles. I never wanted this for you." Uneasy, Erik's breathing betrayed the supposed lull of his thoughts. "I wanted you to stay by my side, together. But you want a family, a school and I want an army."

The heat of Erik's gaze on Charles's face became perceptible even though he could not see it. "That's wrong, I shouldn’t keep coming here." The weight left the mattress suddenly, which then returned to its original conformation.

Charles struggled to keep still as he felt the back of Erik's hand on his cheek, gently caressing his skin. His hands were warm, transferring all the heat to the rest of the telepath's body. "I guess I just wanted to make sure of your well-being."

The temperature subsided as did Erik's presence, which increased more and more the distance between them as he left that same room through the usual window, without uttering another word. Leaving the telepath once more static on the bed, unable to succumb to sleep again.

 

"I don’t think you guys have to worry about Erik's nighttime visits anymore," Charles said late in the afternoon as they returned from a drive through the nearest park. Hank, sitting in the driver's seat, looked at him warily, demanding an explanation.

The telepath sighed, staring at the greenish vegetation outside the window. "I have the impression he will not come back any more."

No one inside the vehicle dared to contradict Charles's hypothesis, not after feeling the weight of the sadness that such phrases carried with so much sacrifice.

 

Erik's sudden appearances served as a subsidy to Charles's mind, distracting him from the impertinent pain in the depths of his memories and deceiving him of the truth which he himself refused to see most of the time. As his old hypothesis proved to be true, morphine doses were increased by the telepath as a way of dealing with his own anguish; as much as he knew that all the nuisance was instilled not in his body but in the depths of his psychological. The space left by those who departed widened, its edges corroding as if in contact with strongly concentrated acid; burning its surroundings cruelly.

 

On one of the subsequent mornings, Charles found a small bundle on the door of his room. As he unrolled carefully the newspaper envelope, there was a single chess piece accompanied by a brown card stained in black ink; a white queen carved in marble. In a legible and inclined handwriting the following message was read:

**_I miss our games. Would you like to challenge me tonight?_ **

Charles's reddish lips hadn’t acquired such a natural and elegant curvature since long ago, giving to his face a glow which had been practically extinguished from his routine. Most of his reactions were false, given to the automaticity of his thoughts and consequently his reflexes; displaying a mask which existence occurred only in his childhood, while his parents were still alive. As for his solitude and constant melancholy, none of the others had to know, no matter how much they distrusted such feelings.

The characteristic, radiant gleam of his blue eyes did not go unnoticed by those who shared the same rooms.

"Someone had a good night of sleep," Sean announced loudly, using his elbow to draw Alex's attention. "Or he’s just happy to see Moira later on." With that comment, Alex rolled his eyes and smirked mischievously at his colleague.

"I think the one who's happy about that is actually you." The freckles around Sean's cheek and nose stood out with the red color newly adopted by his skin.

"Shut up." The shrieking mutant murmured in disgust.

Hank, totally alienated from the side discussion, turned his attention to the professor. "So, what was inside that package to made you so happy? You really look different."

Charles's arms moved his chair close to the center table, taking a long sip of tea in an attempt to hide the smile that dared to blossom as in an out-of-season spring. "Well, Erik will come for a game of chess tonight."

"How boring," Sean whispered, lowering his own levels of curiosity now that the truth had been revealed.

His reaction gained a reproachful glance from the professor, but its nature was soon transfigured. "I haven’t felt him around for a few weeks now. Maybe he finally wants to talk." His fingers tapped the rough surface of the mug impatiently.

"If you need any help all you have to do is yell, you know." Alex gestured towards his forehead awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do at a time like that. But at the same time, respecting the decision made by the professor.

Charles nodded once, then turned to Hank. "Could you help me get all that dust out of the library? It seems like years since I've been in that room." Without even listening to the scientist's reply, Charles began to make his way to that destination.

Time passed as if under the influence of the speed of light within that particular room in which memories had been built in a not so distant past. Books piled high in every corner and occupying the space on the tables, an old abandoned chessboard in the exact conformation of its last game, the one responsible for taking away most of Charles’ hopes regarding Erik and his wishes for the man to stay in the mansion and therefore, next to the telepath.

Moira's female figure showed up at the front door, her arms crossed at the pit of her stomach. "Good to see you took the day to give this place a bit of life." Her brown eyes circled the room as a whole, sending signs of contentment directly into Charles's alert mind.

"Moira! How was the trip?" The telepath turned around, opening his arms and taking her between them briefly.

"Satisfactory," she commented without much detail, sitting on the couch and crossing her legs. "It seems like a time away from me has done you good, you’re even smiling now."

Despite being one of his greatest confidants, Charles had not told Moira about Erik's visits, knowing she would not approve such actions.

"Let's just say I have reason to be like this." A single glance was enough for Hank to understand the message hidden behind it, heading for the door with a short farewell. "An old friend," Charles complimented as he heard the doorknob turn.

The softness in Moira's face was lost, giving way to a deep frown. "He!? What does he want after all he's done to you? Paralyze the rest of your body?" The CIA agent asked, incredulous with the news.

"That's not how things work, Moira. He just wants to talk." Charles diverted his gaze, sighing as he had to explain the situation all over again.

"Do you really believe that? Do you think he's not going to show up with his helmet and kill you instead?"

With lips pressed into a thin, tense line, the telepath turned to Moira again. The tingling of his eyes perceptible to the one who watched him.

"He appeared for three days in a row and then simply disappeared. It was hard to see him leave the first time, so how do you think I am now?" His trembling fingers ran through the rebellious strands of his chestnut hair. "I could deal with the pain during the visits. I finally had something to occupy my mind other than the same painful thoughts. And now, without that bastard, the doses only increased. I’m afraid of losing myself in such a deep sleep and not finding my way back." His voice, initially loud and filled with anguish, faded to a whisper during the last words, almost frightened by their palpable veracity.

Slowly one of Moira's hands rested on Charles's shoulder. "He's really important to you, isn’t he?" Her expression fully humanized after the telepath's speech.

Until that moment, Charles had never stopped to reflect on the feelings he had for Erik. His presence had become more than essential over time, establishing a strong friendship between them because of similar interests, their avid devotions to the mutants, and even the stormiest discussions were capable of uniting them in an eerie way. A bond whose yellowish color became more and more reddish, passing through a deep orange until it fell in the graces of an intense red, leaving to the display the message that the naked eyes were not able to see.

"Yes, he is," Charles replied, forcing a desperate laugh to leave his lips. "That idiot."

"You’re both idiots, Charles," Moira said, bringing the telepath closer in a simple hug, indirectly showing that she would always be around to support him in any of his decisions. "Go to your room and get changed. It's almost dark, and as far as I can remember, Erik is terribly punctual."

Charles laughed at the memory in his mind, in which Erik was always responsible for waking him up during the trip in search of new mutants, all because Charles had never been able to follow the timetable proposed at the beginning. "Terribly punctual indeed," he repeated, settling into his wheelchair.

_And yet_ , Charles thought, _I love him unconditionally._

 

Resting in his wheelchair, Charles wore his finest bluish-colored sweater, further emphasizing the resplendence found in his deep blue eyes. There on the porch, feeling the wind’s gentle touch caressing the contours of his face, he waited for Erik's arrival with his heart on his sleeves, fluttering uncontrollably inside of his chest. A feeling that he longed to experience again.

Erik's vision brought an instant smile to Charles's contemplative features, which admired the definitions of Erik’s body, covered in a traditional black turtleneck; the same one used during that irrevocable game of chess. In Erik’s hands there was only a small box; no sign of the metallic helmet that prevented the telepath from reading his thoughts.

"Erik." Charles greeted him quickly before giving him space to follow into the room. Despite the temptation, he kept his powers away from Erik's mind, settling his most solid shields. "I didn’t know if you'd rather stay here or in the library. I can bring the board here without any problem," he offered, having his proposal denied by Erik.

"There is no need to. I brought a set with me. I just need the white queen back." The corner of his lips rose slightly as his eyes wandered curiously through the inside of Charles's room, noticing the subtle changes in the newly modified decor.

"A lovely chess set you own," Charles casually said, seizing the queen on his bedside table and placing it squarely on the open chessboard; the black pieces facing the chair where Erik sat.

Erik thanked him silently, staring Charles’ wheelchair carefully and waiting for the game to start. "Does it bother you?" He asked, moving one of his pawns as he watched the telepath's move.

Charles's eyebrows frowned in confusion. "What?" He asked, still pondering about the next play.

The metal in his chair vibrated in agreement with Erik's outstretched fingers, evidencing the subject on the agenda. "Oh, this." Charles laughed, shaking his head. "You get used to it."

The advance of a white horse forced Erik to retreat into his strategy, if there was any in his mind at that moment. "I'm sorry." Erik murmured, not daring to meet Charles's gaze on the other side of the table.

"You've apologized many times during your visits," Charles mentioned, capturing one of Erik's pawns with his horse.

Silence came to life, as if Erik was calculating every word and action, almost fearing that something might result in Charles's absence. "So, you weren’t asleep? Why didn’t you say anything?"

"Sometimes I thought it was only a silly dream, but the last time I was entirely awake." Focusing on the match, Charles averted his eyes for the first time, meeting an unusual emotion settled in those gray orbs. "I thought you'd run away after realizing my consciousness," he said softly, resting two fingers on his temple simply to support the weight of his head.

Erik frowned. "Isn’t this what you always wanted?" A slight distraction made him lose another piece of his black army.

"Erik, I never wanted you to leave." His look transcribed all the truthfulness on which his words were based.

Erik's fingers tightened around the chair’s cushioned arm. "Those weren’t the words you said that day."

Neither of them felt the need to mention that precise date they were talking about at the moment, knowing all of the details of the event in discussion.

"You hurt me, Erik. Emotionally and physically." Charles took a deep breath at the unwelcome rise in his voice tone, soothing his turbulent thoughts. "I’m afraid I realized how wrong my words were only when it was too late," he added, looking at the game in progress rather than at the adversary who challenged him.

As he waited for Erik's next move, the telepath heard him whisper discreetly in his mind.

_Do I still bring you pain?_

Alarmed, Charles's fingers slid down his temples and his mouth gaped instantly, believing that Erik's voice was a fruit of his own illusion. But the moment his gaze met Erik’s, he felt on his skin the unconsciously projected emotions behind orbs now discernibly shaken.

"You used to. But today you bring me nothing but joy and serenity, all I ever needed to keep myself busy and forget about the pain, the nightmares." Charles's short nails dug into the palm of his hands, haunted by the purest yearning to have only one touch; to feel again that characteristic warmth that once proved to be more useful than the blankets covering his body. "When you said that you wouldn’t come back, it was as if I had been abandoned again. My body was intoxicated with morphine, the only thing that brought me a few hours of sleep."

"Charles..." Erik's hand covered Charles's pale one above one of his bishops. "You know I can’t stay."

"And I know I can’t make you promise something like that." A shiver ran down Charles's arm as he felt the tip of Erik's fingers against the back of his hand; a simple caress full of pure affection.

"And I also know that I can’t possibly bear to see you leave again." His eyes flickered from the board, staring into Erik's face, whose expression reflected the amount of pain contained in his own.

Their hands were once again cold and Charles dried a single tear down the side of his face before continuing the game.

Silence spoke louder than any of the voices and even lost thoughts. The sound of the pieces meeting the solid chessboard echoed through the participants’ minds, generating an odd paced rhythm. More and more scarce, the monochromatic colors left their respective houses and were added to the personal collection of both opponents. It was not possible to predict a winner by then, not when both proved to be equally challenging, stimulating the creation of new strategies at every passing round.

The moment Charles touched his queen, a question came to his mind. "Why a queen?" His fingers circled the supposed crown, waiting for an answer before moving it.

"They’re always beside a king." Charles's heart fluttered once, his hopes again taking another leap forward, even knowing the pain that would come from the fall afterwards. "Without it the game wouldn’t exist, nor could it be given continuity."

A faint sketch of a smile took over Erik's thin lips. "You’re my king, Charles. Without you I wouldn’t be here and none of this would ever exist. You gave life to the dreams of all these children, of all the people who are patiently waiting for a better world."

Moving one last black piece, Erik paused. A laugh had been directed at the board and then at the telepath in his opposite direction. "I said I can’t stay, but if you accept me, I'd like to start over."

The conformation of the game set on the chessboard brought a feeling of déjà-vu to Charles, who abysmally watched the configuration of each one of the pieces. "You did it on purpose." All of them in the exact position of the game that was still left untouched inside the library.

"Peace is still not an option. But maybe we could give it a chance." After looking affectionately one last time at the chessboard, Erik stood up, walking straight to the bedroom porch.

"Give a chance for what?" Charles asked desperately, turning his chair quickly to stop Erik from flying away.

Erik looked at the telepath from over his shoulders; his body easily turning towards the target determined by his hypnotizing gaze. His feet touched Charles's, watching the greasy pair of black shoes resting on the wheelchair. Moving upward, Erik glanced at the telepath’s pale, bruised hands and his shapely arms, which had a significant increase in muscular mass. Finishing at last on his face, Erik smiled broadly as he found the dreamy pair of bright blue eyes staring back at him.

Charles's eyelids rested shut as he felt Erik’s fingers slowly tangling in his hair, allowing that same inviting warmth to consume his body as a whole; Indulging in the feeling as he wished to have done the first time. His eyes slowly let the faint light of the environment seep through his pupils as he noticed a hot breath being blown against his cheek. Realizing now the tiny distance that separated him from Erik.

"For us, Charles." Erik whispered, sealing his lips against the telepath’s in a chaste kiss, but filled with the purest affection. His mind opened momentarily, pouring into Charles's interior all the various and new feelings discovered thanks to the previous visits and the time they spent apart. Charles’ importance, the guilt that carried him to Charles’ bedroom porch, the pain he felt tracing through his body as he learned about Charles's current condition, the distinct affection that was responsible for his heart’s arrhythmia.

With a broad smile, the telepath followed Erik to the porch, gazing at the horizon with a different look; one rejuvenated with the faintest traces of hope. "Goodbye, Erik."

Erik shook his head in denial, squeezing Charles's hands one last time before releasing them. "No. I’ll see you tomorrow, Charles."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](http://starks-wings.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to scream with me about Cherik or anything really


End file.
